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away from him. He couldn't understand it, but he kept reaching out to her. And in the distance he saw a man watching them ' she was turning toward him ' and when Charlie looked up, he saw the man beckoning to her, and she went to him. She slipped right through Charlie's hands, as he watched her go to him ' it was Simon, and he was laughing.

    Chapter 2
    THEY LANDED ON the runway at Kennedy with a hard thump, which woke Charlie with a start. He had been sleeping for hours, exhausted by the activities and emotions of the past few days, or weeks ' or months. ' It had been undeniably hellish. It was just after three o'clock in the afternoon local time, and as the prettiest of the flight attendants handed him his Burberry, he smiled, and she was disappointed all over again that he hadn't woken up sooner, or talked to her during the flight.
    Will you be going back to London with us, Mr. Waterston? Somehow, just looking at him, she had gotten the impression that he lived in Europe. She was based in London like the others.
    Unfortunately not. He smiled at her, wishing that he was going back to London. I'm moving to New York, he said, as though she cared. But no one else did either. She nodded and moved on as he put on his raincoat and picked up his briefcase.
    The line of people disembarking from the plane moved with the speed of cement, and eventually he made it off the plane and picked up his two bags at the baggage claim, and then found a cab waiting outside for a fare into the city. As Charlie got into the cab, he was surprised by how cold it was. It was only November, but it was freezing. It was four o'clock by then, and he was going to the studio that had been rented by his firm until he found his own apartment. It was in the East Fifties, between Lexington and Third, and if not large, at least it was convenient.
    Where do ya come from? the driver asked, gnawing a cigar and playing tag with a limousine and two other cabbies. He narrowly missed hitting a truck, and then launched headlong into the Friday afternoon traffic. If nothing else, it was familiar to Charlie.
    London, he answered, looking out the window as Queens sped by. There was no pretty way into the city.
    How long ya been there? The driver chatted amiably, continuing to dart in and out of traffic. But as they approached the city, and rush hour traffic clogged the road, the sport became less exciting.
    Ten years, Charlie said without thinking, and the driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror.
    Long time. Ya here to visit?
    I'm moving back, Charlie explained, feeling suddenly exhausted. It was nine-thirty at night for him, and the neighborhoods they drove through were so dreary, it depressed him. The route into London was no lovelier, but at least it was home now. This wasn't. He had lived in New York for seven years after graduating from architectural school at Yale, but he had grown up in Boston.
    There's no place like it, the cabdriver proclaimed with a grin, waving the cigar at the view beyond his windshield. They were just crossing the bridge, and the skyline looked impressive in the twilight, but even seeing the Empire State Building didn't cheer Charlie. He rode the rest of the way into town in silence.
    When they arrived at Fifty-fourth and Third, he paid the cab driver and got out, and identified himself to the doorman. He was expected. The office had left his keys for him, and he was grateful to have a place to stay, but when he saw the place they'd rented for him, he was startled. Everything in the single, compact room seemed to be either Formica or plastic. There was a long white counter with gold sparkles in it, and two bar stools covered in fake white leather, a sofa that converted into a bed, cheap furniture with plastic seats in a grim shade of green, and there were even plastic plants that caught his eye as soon as he turned the light on. Looking around at the sheer ugliness of it left him breathless. This was what it had come to. No wife, no home,